Moose Calling. 1 23 



in the canoe a paddle blade touches the water noise- 

 lessly from the stern ; and over the bow there is the 

 glint of moonlight on a rifle barrel. The roar is now 

 continuous on the summit of the last low ridge. 

 Twigs crackle, and branches snap. There is the 

 thrashing of mighty antlers among the underbrush, 

 the pounding of heavy hoofs upon the earth ; and 

 straight down the great bull rushes like a tempest, 

 nearer, nearer, till he bursts with trenrendous crash 

 through the last fringe of alders out onto the grassy 

 point. — And then the heavy boom of a rifle rolling 

 across the startled lake. 



Such is moose calling, in one of its phases — the 

 most exciting, the most disappointing, the most try- 

 ing way of hunting this noble game. 



The call of the cow moose, which the hunter always 

 uses at first, is a low, sudden bellow, cjuite impossible 

 to describe accurately. Before ever hearing it, I had 

 frequently asked Indians and hunters what it was like. 

 The answers were rather unsatisfactory. " Like a 

 tree falling," said one. " Like the sudden swell of a 

 cataract or the rapids at night," said another. " Like 

 a rifle-shot, or a man shouting hoarsely," said a third ; 

 and so on till like a menag-erie at feeding- time was 

 my idea of it. 



One night as I sat with my friend at the door of 

 our bark tent, eating our belated supper in tired 



